The Dancer of the Marrakesh
by friendorphantom
Summary: Sequel to PotO, primarily Leroux based. I realize this information is not terribly enticing, but please read on. The story should prove more satisfactory than the summary.
1. Prologue

A/N: The Marrakesh is an actual restaurant, located in downtown D.C. I dined there one evening and, as I usually do when I'm in any one place for a significant amount of time, I dreamed up a Phantom scenario to fit my surroundings. I contemplated the idea further, and eventually the phic came about. Let me know what you think, but be considerate—i.e., no flames. Thank you.

Disclaimer: Lyrics in this chapter borrowed from the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Prologue

_I'll find a way to right this wrong_

_If it takes my whole life long_

_Lord, I'll fight my battles all alone_

_But make me strong_

"Mademoiselle Daae is here to see you, sir," Raoul's butler informed him upon returning home.

"Thank you, Damien," Raoul automatically replied, not reacting much to this information. It was, of course, perfectly normal for his fiancée to drop by from time to time.

However, the perfectly normal sensation evaporated the minute he walked into the darkened living room. The lights were muted; the windows were open, allowing a chilling breeze to pervade the space; the air was thick with a sensation of imminent tragedy. A vaguely outlined shadow sat burrowed into a corner of the sofa, silently frozen.

Raoul switched on one of the lamps, illuminating the form of Christine hugging her knees to her chest. She was wearing a plain cream-colored dress and had draped a deep azure shawl over it. Her dark curls, half pulled back into a silver barrette, were sprawled around her shoulders and down her back. Her sapphire eyes stared straight ahead as if in a trance.

Thoroughly dreading whatever was behind her gaze, Raoul placed a hand gently on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Good evening, Christine," he said apprehensively. "Would you care to explain to me why you are sitting here in the dark?"

Her eyes shifted slightly to acknowledge his presence. "No, I'm sure that I would," she said in a hollow voice.

"And yet…" Raoul gestured for her to fill in the sentence.

She sighed. "Well, I saw the doctor today. To find out about the nausea." Lately, Christine had been experiencing stomach sickness. Probably it was influenza, transmitted from any one of the multitude who were currently afflicted, but Raoul encouraged a medical examination to confirm the condition's innocuousness. Unfortunately, that confirmation was not to be made.

Another pause. "And?"

"Well…I don't have the flu." The lack of enthusiasm for this seemingly good news hinted forebodingly that there was more to the story.

"Christine, what are trying to tell me?"

The circumlocution drew to a close. "Raoul, I'm pregnant."

An intense silence followed. Raoul numbly crossed the room to sit in an armchair facing the couch. Somehow it seemed that this discussion would continue for a while. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands for a moment. Then he abruptly straightened up.

"Whose is it?" he asked without a trace of emotion.

"What do you mean, whose is it?" Christine suddenly shot back indignantly. "Exactly what kind of woman do you think I am?"

Raoul remained irritatingly composed. "Honestly, I'm not sure I know anymore," he said coolly. "I wouldn't have suspected anything like this would befall you in the first place. So clearly I'm not the best judge of your character."

"In case you've forgotten Raoul, I did have a husband," she said icily, somewhat enjoying the shudder that passed through him at this comment. "And I don't believe consummating a marriage is quite the same thing as sleeping around."

Raoul's tone grew softer. "Can you honestly tell me that this union was consensual? That he did not force himself on you?"

"Yes, I can," she said quietly.

Silence. Raoul held his head in his hands again.

Finally he murmured, "Get rid of it."

"What did you say?" Christine asked in a whisper.

"Get rid of it," he reiterated more assertively.

"I don't believe you just said that," she declared, her voice quavering.

"Christine, listen to me," he said gravely. "If you want still want our marriage to take place, this is what must be done. You know our relationship has already caused something of a scandal. If you're pregnant as well, my name—the Chagny name—is ruined. And I absolutely cannot raise a child who not only is not mine, but is spawned from that monster."

Christine stood up angrily. "I don't care what happens to the precious Chagny name! I don't care whose child it is! The point is that it is a child, and if you would rather have that child killed than hurt your pride, then you're the most selfish person I've ever had the misfortune to meet!"

Raoul rose so he could glare down at her. "It's your decision," he said coldly. "You can do what you want with the child, but I will not allow you to destroy my reputation." He sighed. "I'm sorry it comes to this. But if you have this baby, I will not marry you."

Christine stepped into the empty house. She was immediately engulfed by a wave of despair.

"I've lost everything," she realized.

Mama Valerius had passed away, leaving behind the moderate estate. The Opera, along with her career, was permanently closed down, all its glory decaying into oblivion. The newspaper clipping in her dresser drawer bore the sinister script, "Erik is dead." Raoul had disowned her. And her father…still painfully absent.

In that moment, Christine understood sheer anguish—the feeling that follows the knowledge of not having a soul in the world to depend upon.

The next thought that crossed her mind was a dark one. It alluded to a memory of kneeling on the floor, blood dripping, head aching horribly—but it did help to quash the ravaging pain in heart. If only she had been allowed to finish…

"This time I will be." It was perfect. Why live? There was nothing, no one, to live for. What difference would her death make to anyone?

_The baby. _

Remembering the reason for her current plight, all thoughts of suicide were terminated.

Even if Christine was lost to the rest of the world, her child still depended on her. For the sake of this unborn being, she would have to carry on. Somehow.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks very much to **MJ-Skywalker** and **Catalina Fiought and Company. **Glad you like it so far, and I appreciate the reviews.

Disclaimer: lyrics from Beauty and the Beast.

Chapter 1

_Hopeless_

_As my dream dies_

_As the time flies_

_Love a lost illusion_

_Helpless_

_Unforgiven_

_Cold and driven_

_To this sad conclusion_

"Two years?" Erik silently groaned. How could it have only been two years since she left? Every day felt like two years. "Well, two years and twelve days, actually," said a voice in his head. "Not that I was counting."

For the first several weeks, Erik had barricaded himself in his lair and seldom ate or slept. He occupied himself with such projects as slitting his wrists and emptying the contents of his wine cellar at a dangerously fast rate.

Before he could actually starve or bleed to death, Nadir interfered. With the Persian's assistance, Erik gradually began to reform his life. He still refused to leave the lair for quite some time, but instead of abusing himself, he returned to his books and his music. Eventually he resurfaced for nighttime walks in the city, in which he could breathe fresh air and gaze at the moonlight while clinging to the shadows.

Unfortunately, by no means did these improvements amount to healing. Erik lived in as much of a stupor as when he was consistently drunk. This one was simply calmer, more subdued. He went through the motions of living—as much as was usual for him—but nothing permeated his callous outer shell.

After the few weeks of wallowing, Erik had submitted his brief obituary to _L'Epoque. _He supposed she should be freed from all thoughts of him. Besides, the statement was not entirely false; he might as well have been dead.

xxxxxxxxxx

Erik was reclined on the sofa reading when Nadir burst in.

"There you are, my friend," Erik said dryly. "I wondered when you would return. It's been almost three days now!"

"Very amusing, Erik. I don't believe for a minute that you would take care of yourself if I left you alone any longer." The Persian walked across the room to stand in front of him.

Erik looked pointedly at his empty hands. "No food parcels today?"

"You won't need any," said Nadir. "Tonight we are going out for supper."

Erik simply stared at him. It wasn't necessary to vocalize his response for Nadir to understand.

"Erik, I've been letting you recover at your own pace, but you've come to a standstill. It's high time for you to get out of the cellars."

The stare continued.

"It is not natural or healthy to go this long without even a glimpse of sunlight, or human contact."

At his friend's persistence, Erik finally condescended to partake in the argument. "I've never really enjoyed either of those things," he said calmly.

"But you still occasionally experienced them, which, whether you appreciated it or not, kept you…well…somewhat sane."

Erik was mildly amused. "I could take offense at that."

"But you won't, because you know it's true," Nadir finished, equally amused. Then he grew somber. He sat in an armchair beside the sofa. "Honestly, Erik. You really must move on at some point. It's been two years."

"Two years and twelve days," said the voice in his head. Fortunately it didn't come out of his mouth.

"You know I'll until simply bother you with my lecturing until you agree to come," Nadir warned.

"That is true," Erik muttered.

"And I've already made reservations for us, at a charming African restaurant that just opened. It's called the Marrakesh. The food, the décor, the service, everything is very authentic. I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

"I suppose if you absolutely insist—" Erik started to grumble.

"Excellent. I'll just wait while you get ready. You won't regret this."

Still grumbling, Erik stalked off to his room to change.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks again to **MJ-Skywalker. **I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Dislaimer: Lyrics from Aida.

Chapter 2

_We seized the day  
We turned the tide  
We touched the stars  
We mocked the grave  
We moved into uncharted lands  
Fortune favors the brave  
_

Though it was early evening and the sun had since passed the height of its shining, Erik was nearly blinded by the glare as he and Nadir emerged from the opera house. Coming into the light was a shock to Erik. His instincts immediately screamed at him to flee. Still, he gritted his teeth and followed Nadir.

The path from the side entrance to the carriage parked outside it seemed to stretch miles longer than the few feet of which it actually consisted. Upon reaching the coach, Erik practically leaped inside and breathed a sigh of temporary relief. Maybe this was going to be harder than he had anticipated.

From that point, however, the evening improved. Erik instantly liked the Marrakesh. The restaurant lacked any outward displays and resided behind a remote door in the same building as the neighboring carriage house. The place was not exactly an impenetrable fortress, but one would have to deliberately seek it out rather than simply stumble upon it.

The ambience was enhanced by the dim lighting, and Erik was able to relax once they were seated amongst the exotic Moroccan draperies. Miraculously, the waiter did not glance twice at the mask. Probably Nadir had mentioned the issue when he made the reservation, Erik realized, and wondered briefly how exactly such a conversation would progress. But he soon decided it made little difference and gave it no further thought.

The way the tables were arranged gave each party a generous amount of space. The distance combined with the inconsequential light ensured that Erik also received no stares from the other customers.

During the fourth course, the lights suddenly turned off. Erik's eyes adjusted to the darkness rather quickly; he was easily able to discern the shapes of several waiters in the center aisle, who appeared to be assembling some sort of table.

"What is going on?" Erik whispered to Nadir.

Nadir was unsure of how to answer. He had a fairly good idea of what was going on, but he dreaded Erik's reaction. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe…well, first Erik, you should know that I was not aware this would be included with dinner…"

The Persian was accustomed to and had an appreciation for the art of exotic dancing. He suspected though, that what he considered aesthetic enjoyment, Erik would consider degradation of women.

"…but it's a traditional part of the culture, and of course the purpose of the establishment is to give one a complete cultural experience…" Nadir began to babble as they watched the shadow of a woman come down the aisle. With the help of the waiters, she ascended the table and struck a pose.

The waiters left and returned to the kitchens. The dim house lights came back on, along with a brighter spotlight focused on the table. Vibrant Moroccan music began to play, and the woman began dancing suggestively.

Nadir warily watched Erik, who was gazing at the table with resigned distaste. A moment later, his expression suddenly changed to one of utter shock.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks very much to my reviewers. I see you had no trouble guessing the identity of the dancer—I guess I wasn't going too much for suspense there. **PhantomOCD**—love the name, btw—I have complied and given you a slightly longer chapter. Thanks again, **MJ-Skywalker**. Please keep reading.

Disclaimer: Lyrics from the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Chapter 3

_Faces Change_

_Even Smiles grow strange_

Nadir followed Erik's gaze to the table. The woman was clad in a red halter and long gauzy skirt, both trimmed in gold sequins that matched her jingling anklets and finger cymbals. His eyes traveled up her thin, well-toned form. When he reached the long, dark curls and sapphire eyes, he recognized her.

The Persian glanced back to Erik, who now looked furious, and then followed his narrowed eyes once more to observe just how many of the diners were middle-aged men who appeared to be enjoying the performance a bit too much. Nadir placed a very tentative hand on one of Erik's clenched fists as a reminder to remain calm, knowing its chances of being effective were virtually nonexistent.

xxxxxxxxx

_How could she? _Sweet, innocent Christine. The girl he knew would never have dreamed of being caught in such a position—on display to be leered at by brutish men…

"Kindly explain to me the cultural significance here," Erik said in a dangerously cool voice.

"Erik—" Nadir began.

"No, really," he interrupted. "I'm quite interested. Precisely how does the Moroccan tradition of catering to animal lust differ from that of every other country in the world?"

"Try not to get upset--" Nadir began again, as the music and dancing finally stopped. _Thank Allah. _Raucous cheering and applause quickly interrupted the welcome quiet. _Damn. _The situation grew worse. Another song began to play, and the dancing continued.

"Is it the attire?" Erik ventured on. "Dress the burlesque dancers in scraps of the native garb and it becomes tasteful?"

"Perhaps we should step outside for a moment," Nadir suggested.

"And miss the cultural enlightenment?" Erik's voice was now dripping with sarcasm. "Because really, I feel quite in tune with African ethnology, watching a Swedish girl gyrating for the French masses!"

Giving up the persuasion, Nadir took hold of Erik's wrist. Erik reluctantly allowed himself to be led out the front door without causing a riot.

xxxxxxxxx

_And we all have so many faces_

_The real self often erases_

"I understand this must be very upsetting for you," said Nadir.

Erik was pacing along the side of the building and didn't seem to hear him.

"After all this time, you finally muster the strength to be among people again, and immediately run into her."

Erik stopped in his tracks. "I have no problem running into _her_," he said through clenched teeth. "It just shouldn't be _here._"

"It's perfectly natural to be upset by seeing her," said Nadir. "There's no need to blame the circumstances."

"Blame the circumstances?" he chuckled. "Of course. Clearly I am displacing suppressed emotion by overreacting to this perfectly harmless situation!"

"You are overreacting," Nadir responded. "Consider it, Erik. This is a perfectly respectable establishment—hardly a brothel. I see no shame in her career, and I don't believe she does. She looked happy, don't you agree? Or is that exactly what is bothering you?"

"She wasn't happy," Erik murmured.

"And what makes you think that?" Nadir challenged.

"I oversaw her theatrical career," Erik said. "I can differentiate between what she deliberately expresses and what she sincerely feels. In there, she was acting."

Nadir suppressed a groan. "It's really not our concern anymore," he said gently. "Listen, this has been a difficult night. It would probably be best to get you home so you can recover. Wait here while I go pay the bill, all right?"

Nadir walked back around to the front of the building. Erik resumed pacing. Nearing the back of the restaurant, he heard a door close. Someone was exiting. Instinctively he braced himself against the wall and nervously waited for the footsteps to walk off.

xxxxxxxxx

_Enticing lies_

_Flicker through our eyes_

Christine left the Marrakesh rather tired. She had only danced for about ten minutes, but was now rushing over to the cabaret for a longer and more demanding shift. The day's progression until that point had been strenuous as well.

She felt the shame especially strongly today. The gnawing feeling had never entirely subsided, but overtime she had learned to grow numb to it. Often though, at the slightest prompting—the slightest visitation of memory—the feeling renewed.

He was haunting her today. Not for the first time, Christine wondered what Erik would think of her now. Raoul didn't matter; he had condemned her long before she sank to this level. The memory of her father and her foster mother made her cringe. She of course felt horribly guilty for the example she was setting for Adelle.

And yet Erik's was the opinion that agitated her conscience above all others. When she danced, Christine always tried to observe her audience as little as possible—she had no desire to know who was watching or what kind of reception she was eliciting. Occasional glimpses, however, were unavoidable, and today she could have sworn she saw a masked face in the crowd.

She shook her head and walked on. _Don't think of it._

"Christine!" she heard a voice call. She froze. It was his voice.

_Oh dear. Apparently I'm still thinking of it._ She slowly turned in the direction of the voice, just to confirm it was only her imagination.

She saw him step out of the dark alley. Her eyes widened. Had she regressed so far as hallucinations? He looked so real. She stepped forward and nervously reached out to touch him on the shoulder. Her fingers met with a solid surface.

"Oh God," she murmured, raising her eyes to his.

"You're not dreaming," he said firmly.

"But you're…" "Not dead," he assured her.

She staggered backwards and leaned against the wall. This night was becoming more exhausting by the minute.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks very much to **PhantomOCD** and **Ripper de la Blackstaff**. Sorry to leave you hanging. I'll be away the rest of the summer, so it may also be a while before I update again. But to make up for it here's the longest chapter yet.

Disclaimer: lyrics borrowed from Les Miserables.

Chapter 4

"I sent in the obituary myself," Erik explained. "So you could forget me and live in peace."

"Then why are you here?" Christine asked numbly.

"It's lovely to see you again, too," he said flatly.

"Oh don't be like," she chided, crossing her arms. "I'm just trying to follow your erratic line of reasoning."

"What can I say, Christine? I simply missed you. A little visit seemed overdue."

_I've seen your face before_

_Show me some way to help you_

"Well I'm not available at the moment," she asserted, straightening up. "I'm afraid I must be going."

"And where are you rushing off to?" Erik asked coolly. "Home before the viscount notices you're missing?"

She gave him an odd look. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I can't imagine he would knowingly allow you to entertain other men in such a way."

_How have you come to be_

_In such a place as this?_

Her eyes dropped to the ground. "You don't know anything about my life now, do you?"

"I certainly haven't been lurking behind walls spying on you, if that's what you were thinking," said Erik. "In fact, while we're on the subject, meeting you tonight happens to be a coincidence. I simply came for dinner—"

"Per my request," finished Nadir, stepping out of the alley. "Good evening, Christine."

"Good evening," she returned mechanically.

"Erik, shall I go on without you?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes, do that," Erik replied, barely glancing at his friend.

"Very well. _Bonne nuit._" The Persian withdrew.

"As I was saying," Erik continued. "I was unaware you were employed here. So in answer to your question, no, I suppose I don't have any idea of what your life is actually like, only some logical assumptions.

"Well some of them are wrong," she said. "I never married Raoul."

"Really?" he said, keeping the delight in his voice at a moderate level. "Well, I commend your taste. Where are you off to, then?"

She looked uncomfortable. "To work."

"And just how many jobs do you hold?"

"Three. But perhaps only two if I linger much longer," she said pointedly.

"Well then allow to accompany you on your journey," he said. "It's not safe to walk the streets alone at night."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm sure I'll be fine." She started to walk away. "Good night, Erik."

"What are you afraid of?" he suddenly asked chillingly.

She stopped but didn't turn around.

"Do you think it's that dangerous to be around me for long? I assure you I have no intention of whisking you off to the catacombs or anything of the sort. I only offered to see that aren't accosted by street criminals, Christine, I did not ask you to marry me!"

She spun around indignantly. "I wouldn't expect you to ask such a thing considering that we're already married. Speaking of which, did you ever consider when you feigned your own death that if I had so chosen to marry Raoul we would have lived in sin?"

"Well how fortunate you avoided that deplorable situation," Erik's voice dripped with sarcasm. "We wouldn't want such a thing to taint your otherwise saintly life!"

_Monsieur, don't mock me now I pray_

_It's hard enough I've lost my pride_

Without thinking, Christine marched right up to him and raised a hand to slap him across the face. Before it could make contact, Erik caught her wrist. "Who do you think you are?" she hissed angrily, jerking her hand away. "You have no right to judge me!"

"Perhaps if you did a better job of judging for yourself I wouldn't be so inclined," he retorted.

She smirked bitterly. "I was wise not to let you come with me to my next job. If you're so disgusted by this one, it would scandalize you to realize just how tasteful it is by comparison."

"Dare I ask where else you work?" he muttered.

"A cabaret and a tavern. I dance and sing, wearing rather scantier clothing in rather closer proximity to the audience, who are rather bolder and rowdierthan those here."

He sighed dejectedly. "What happened to you, Christine? How could you sink to this?"

"I didn't have much choice!" she snapped. "When an opera closes, there aren't many positions available for those whose only skills are dancing and singing. It was essentially this or prostitution! I would have chosen poverty if it weren't for Adelle. Yes, Adelle," she snarled before he could even ask. "_Our _child, the reason Raoul refused to marry me, whom I've been disgracing myself to support while you were off pretending to be dead! So don't criticize my lifestyle when you're half to blame for it!"

Erik was thoroughly taken aback, by her supreme fury as well as by the startling news delivered in the outburst. He let her collect herself for a moment before speaking.

"I am so sorry, Christine. I expected you would marry the viscount and be provided for. Believe me, if I had had any idea what your situation was, I would have been the first to come to your aid."

"And if I had had any idea what _your _situation was, I would have asked for your aid," she said. "You shouldn't have sent in the obituary."

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he said. "I didn't want you to worry that I would come back and make trouble for you. You chose Chagny, it looked like you would live happily ever after. We must not have been meant to be. So I let you go."

"Nothing else turned out the way we thought," she murmured almost to herself. "Maybe we _were _meant to be." She looked at him anxiously.

Erik grew solemn as he took both her hands in his. "Do you think we can try again?"

For the first time that night, Christine's face revealed a glimpse of a genuine smile. "I do."

Erik's eyes golden eyes glowed brighter as he smiled in return. Enraptured in the thrill of the moment, they hugged each other and laughed giddily. At the same instant they both leaned for an intense kiss. The embrace lasted for some time.

Christine suddenly pulled away and made herself stop grinning. "But things have to be different this time," she said firmly.

"Absolutely," Erik agreed. "We will start anew. And the first thing to be done is for you to resign from your jobs."

"Really?" she asked. "I mean, can I—"

"My assets are in good standing," he assured her. "You will not go hungry."

"What about—"

"And neither will Adelle." he chuckled, savoring the name. "Adelle. I can't believe it."

"She's a wonderful child," Christine said sincerely.

"I think I might like to meet this daughter of ours," Erik mused. "Shall we proceed to your quarters?"

"We shall," Christine agreed. He offered her his arm, which she readily accepted along with another kiss. The two strolled off, both feeling significantly more content than they had in two years.


	6. Author's note

Since I may not be updating for a while, I am taking this opportunity to thank my reviewers and respond to comments.

**Ripper de la Blackstaff**: on one hand, itis indeed too fast. Passionate and impulsive is the nature of the relationship. It's an obstacle that may cause problems in the future. On the other hand, they are already married and well acquainted with one another. Even though they haven't seen each other in a long time, neither has completely changed personalities. Notice how after the initial shock, the two immediately begin conversing as very close acquaintances. There doesn't seem to be much point in putting their relationship through the phases of development all over again.

**SciFi-Shark**: in response to your comments, I will say:

-Kay's is a spinoff novel with a number of deviations from the original PotO. It is one author's interpretation, not the ultimate authority on the story. I can have a different ending from hers without it being heretical.

-My perception is that Raoul's and Christine's relationship was one of infatuation, not love. In a nutshell, they mistake the strong bonds of childhood friendship and the comfort it offers for love. Raoul has endured much for her sake because he believes he loves her, but since it is, I believe, a temporary fixation, he eventually grows tired of it. He isunderstandably very threatened by Erik and in my story her having his child is the last straw. Attributing his intolerance to concern for his reputation is a coping mechanism and a way of masking his jealousy.

-Raoul being a wonderful, noble character is your opinion, not the facts. You have your opinions about Raoul, I have mine. His not ending up with Christine and even any actions of his that caused it do not make him bad person. I am simply taking Raoul out of the picture so I can focus on the E/C relationship. My intent was to plausibly explain their breaking up, not to make a statement or insult Raoul. If you read more phics you will find a good portion of them have far more blatant Raoul-bashing.

-Even if my characterizations do not correspond perfectly to Leroux's, that is my prerogative. Creative license is an inherent part of writing fanfiction that does not necessarily constitute mutilation.

-I won't accuse you of writing a flame. I appreciate your honesty.


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